


But By Emotion

by romanticalgirl



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can spread my wings</p>
            </blockquote>





	But By Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to nolivingman for beta duty and the idea. Originally written for the [](http://aos-challenge.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://aos-challenge.livejournal.com/)**aos_challenge** "Defeat" prompt.
> 
> Originally posted 5-3-07

She refuses to look Lily in the eye, unsure she can take the compassion she sees shimmering there in the depths. Compassion and concern that she knows she has not earned and does not deserve in any measure.

The rest of the aviators keep their distance, questions in their eyes, even though they know her loyalty unquestionable given the circumstances. But the doubts remain, uncertain how she could fall so easily for deception, even when all of them were led down the same path, through different means, but to no less disastrous an end.

She strokes a smooth line along Lily’s side, the sleek scales undulating with every deep breath. Catherine sighs and rests her head against the warm flesh, blinking back equally hot tears. She will not cry. She has shed too many tears for her own gullibility, cried to herself and muffled the sound against Lily’s skin, too ashamed to show any more weakness than the one she’s already shown.

She can see the mixture of contempt and concern in Jane Roland’s eyes, even more than in anyone else’s. Perhaps it is because the rest don’t look at her, refuse to meet her gaze, or perhaps because Roland has never fallen victim as Catherine has.

Worse is that it was surrender as surely as if she had handed over her sword to him, defeat as cleanly as in any battle. She feels it keenly, refusing to wear her sword unless demanded, as the weight of it feels foreign and unfamiliar, the bulk of it against her side like a hand at her waist, a lover’s caress gone cold and bruising.

Lily’s long neck turns, her muzzle nudging Catherine lightly. She doesn’t speak, and maybe doesn’t have too, all of it there in her wide, liquid eyes. The worst of it is that Lily doesn’t understand, can’t. All she knows is Catherine aches in places that surgeons and affection can’t touch, that there was someone who threatened them, who came between them under false colors, and then showed true, binding them closer together, but with a hollow space where Catherine’s heart used to be still between them.

“Lily.”

Lily nuzzles Catherine in response, the soft sigh of her name shimmering in the cool air along Lily’s flesh. Catherine closes her eyes and soaks in the reassuring pressure and feels keenly, for not the first time, that her life is different. She would not trade Lily for the world, would not give up this honor and relationship to be a housewife or silly maiden attending parties in London. But there was something about love that spoke to her, though every word it spoke, _he_ spoke was a lie. Something that felt just as much like home as the wind whipping against her face, as the undulation of Lily’s body as she twists and turns in flight.

“You’re far too young anyway.” Catherine looks up, startled by the voice. Roland is standing a measure away, her eyes shaded by the fading light of the setting sun. “Not for love. Love is a province of the young.”

“Then what am I too young for?” She’s not sure, but it is likely the most she’s spoken in days, and certainly the loudest. Her voice has a strange sound to it, deeper, as if whatever has aged her touched her deep enough to change everything about her.

“Giving up. Not that that isn’t the province of the young as well, but you’re not just young. You’re different.”

Catherine runs her hand along Lily’s scales, feeling the attention in the muscles quivering beneath. There’s a defensiveness to Lily when there’s a hard thread of confrontation in someone’s voice now, though it’s ridiculous as it was not confrontation that defeated her, but affection, camaraderie, love.

“We’re different, Harcourt. Different as women, different as people. The rest of the world counts us cursed for being bound to dragons. They see them as creatures they don’t understand, so anyone who is called to one is courting a demon.” She ventures closer, her touch light on Lily’s neck. “But that’s not what makes us different. We’re women, so they assume we’re afraid. They assume we’re weaker, though even those who don’t fly dragons are expected to bear the brunt of life – children and homes and husbands – but we fly unfettered by that.”

“How did you…”

They fall silent, Catherine wishing to bite her tongue and bury her face against Lily’s skin and Roland stares at the ground between them, the surface scored by Lily’s talons. “I had a child for a number of reasons, none of which is your concern. But then and now, you don’t _know_ , Catherine. You never know.”

She looks up, surprised at the sound of her name. She can see Roland…Jane’s eyes now, and there’s understanding in them, compassion. “You know with Laurence.”

“No. You never know. Our allegiance is to our country. The _reason_ so many of them do not trust us is because they know that’s a lie. Our allegiance is to our dragon. Choiseul knew that, understood it.” Catherine shivers at the name, closing her eyes to hold back another flash of tears, burning with shame. “What they don’t understand, what _he_ didn’t understand is that allegiance is nothing without loyalty.”

“It aches,” Catherine whispers, her hand curling into a fist that she presses to her mouth, attempting to hold back the words that escape.

“It does. It will heal.” Roland reaches out and touches Catherine’s forehead, pushing back a fallen lock of hair with a mother’s tenderness. “Not for a long time, and not completely. And trusting next time will be harder, never complete.” She smiles slightly and brings her hand back, tracing the scar that runs along the left side of her face, even the light touch exaggerating the droop of her eye. “But you’ll heal enough.”

“And we go on.”

“They say, if you fall off a horse, you get back up and ride it again.” Roland’s smile curves wickedly. “Men are no different.” Heat of a different kind suffuses Catherine’s skin and she bites back a laugh. Roland shakes her head, her smile changing back to something more understanding. “We go on. Losing a battle is only losing the war if you let the battle become the war. There is always something worth fighting for, Catherine.”

“And I’ll find someone?”

“I can’t promise you that. But I can promise you that you won’t if you don’t look, don’t live.” Roland pats Lily’s neck then strokes it. “She needs exercise.”

Catherine sniffs back the last remnants of tears, somehow certain that, for now at least, she has no more to shed. “She does. And so do I.”

Roland nods and backs away. “Best get it in now before the French have you up and flying regardless.”

Catherine watches her go, still leaning against the warmth of Lily. “I wish people were as honest and easy as dragons, Lily.”

Lily nuzzles her again. “They sometimes seem far too much effort.” They breathe together for a moment then Lily nudges her, the promise of exercise still in the air. “But sometimes they seem as if it might be worth the trouble.”

“I wish you could tell before you started. Less chance of it all coming back to you, less chance of it hurting you.”

“It seems to me.” Lily nudges her again, pushing Catherine away. “That would make life much less of an adventure.”

“And you want adventure, do you, my dear?”

Lily stood, stretching the powerful muscles of her body, too long grounded with grief and threat of loss. “I want to fly again.”

Catherine nods and straightens to her full height. “And so we shall.”  



End file.
